“Why is there an elfin skull in the middle of your temple?” asked Noel, her voice slowly rising.

“It is a holy relic,” said elder Kezler, “passed down through the generations. Legends say it belonged to a great elfin warrior, one who saved all of humanity with his bravery and selflessness.”

“Why don’t you bury it?” I asked.

“We believe the warrior is still looking over us, as a guardian,” said the elder, “but if it offends you, teachers, I will ask the Jora to bury it with whatever ceremony you desire.”

Noel bit her lips. She walked up to the skull and stared at it up close. I followed after her, and asked her what she was doing. She said she was trying to see if it belonged to her uncle Sharun, since the story about an elfin warrior made her think of him. I told her it would be difficult to identify who the skull belonged to, especially after it had been kept out here and handled for so many years. Sharun did have scars on his face, but I didn’t think those would be visible on his bones.

“But what if it is his?” she said.

I didn’t know what else to say. I let Noel inspect the skull; she narrowed her eyes to see if the skull fit the shape of Sharun’s head, but didn’t seem to be able to tell. I asked elder Kezler if there were any more elfin skulls or graves, and he said there were none. He did say I should come look at the other relics, which was enough to get Noel to leave the skull and come follow us to a large hole in the wall. The hole seemed to lead to a dark passage that led underground.

The elder lit a torch and led us down the passage. The walls looked like they belonged to a natural cave, one that may have been carved out by flowing water. In fact, the walls were damp, and water droplets sometimes formed on the ceiling, falling on top of our heads.

The passage gave way to a large cavern, about as big as the one where we’d found The Terrible. In the center of the cavern was another large stone slab, like the one in the middle of the pit. We walked up to the stone slab, and I was, once again, surprised by what I saw.

Bits of crumbling hide, festering sinew, and long locks of silver hair. Pieces of pottery, clearly much newer than the other relics, lay in front of each relic, all adorned with the same, familiar symbol: the symbol I had seen on the grave of the Mad King.

“These things,” I said as I picked up a piece of pottery, “who made them?”

“Among those who keep the stories, the origins of those pieces is disputed,” said elder Kezler. “Some say they were left by the last of the elves, although others point out that they are clearly newer than the rest of the relics, and may not have been made by elfin hands. They suggest, instead, that they were left behind by the ancestors of the Jora, after they founded this temple.”

“The ancestors of the human Jora tribe knew about this symbol?” I asked.

“The stories say that the symbol of the elves was passed down by the leaders of the elves,” said the elder. “The ancestors of the Jora must have learned the symbol from their own ancestors, who may have learned it from the elves.”

I furrowed my brows. “Or maybe they saw it somewhere else.”

The elves of the Jora tribe didn’t know how to write, yet the tomb of the Mad King had a written symbol on it, one that resembled the script that was on the entrance to the cave of The Terrible. I hadn’t given it much thought back then, since the Oracle had taken the entire Jora tribe hostage, but it was a mystery that I had not been able to solve. If the Mad King was influenced by the Immortal of Madness, this symbol may be connected to the immortal. And since the immortal was the one who put us in our current predicament, I was willing to grasp at any straws I could to find out more about him.

We came back out after Noel was finished inspecting the other relics. None of them seemed particularly important, except for the locks of silver hair that all but confirmed that the ancient elves that the humans of the double river had met were members of our elfin Jora tribe. None of the other tribes from the Plains of Serenity had silver hair.

It was late at night so we headed back to the camp. Since the camp was near the top of the hill, we could see far into the surrounding meadows and deep into the hills to the side. The star cover was cheerful, even with the red star’s ominous crimson pulsing.

Now that we were here early, we could relax and come up with a plan. I asked elder Kezler about the human Jora tribe, and what he told me about them only increased my suspicions that something was wrong.

The human Jora tribe, who had taken their name from the tribe of the elves that had rescued their ancestors, was a rigidly hierarchical tribe. They were led by a group of priests. These priests claimed to worship the ancient elves through rituals involving the sacred skull that we had seen in the pit, as well as opaque rituals that revolved around the relics we had seen down the passage. The priests ruled the other human Jora tribesmen with an iron fist, dictating most aspects of their daily lives.

Seeing such a rigid social hierarchy as well as what looked like a well defined cult, was surprising. The Jora tribe’s social development, if put on the same scale as that of my old Earth, was millennia ahead of where the other tribes of the region stood.

“They have blonde and brown hair, green and brown eyes, and use weapons not unlike the one you first showed up with, teachers,” said elder Kezler.

So they were still using flint weapons? I toyed with a copper spear. At least we had a technological advantage over them. “What about their magic?” I asked. “You said they were more powerful than you, but just how powerful are they?”

“They can use the four major elements,” said the elder, “but are not as proficient as you. They still use chants and most of them are not particularly good at magic.”

“I thought you said their magic was more powerful than yours?” I said. “It sounds like they’re only a little bit better than you.”

“The average Jora tribesman’s magic is not that much more powerful than ours,” admitted the elder, “but their true magic is entrusted only to their priests. They are the ones who, according to legend, learned a set of incredible magic spells from the ancient elves, and have kept that knowledge safe and well guarded for many generations.”

“What is their magic like?” asked Noel.

“I have not seen much of it,” said the elder, “but what I have seen sent shivers down my spine. They chant in an unintelligible tongue, stand in an imposing formation, and cast their spells with such power and emotion that far away monsters will turn tail and flee!”

I tapped my chin. “That doesn’t sound like any magic we taught the elves of our tribe. Noel, what do you think?”

“It has to be one of the immortals,” said Noel. “They have to be involved, somehow. The only question is, which one is it?”

I nodded. We were on the same page. “The only other explanation would be the elfin Jora tribe coming up with new spells that were not based on the foundation that we left them with. They knew about the fundamentals of knowledge and wisdom, so it would be strange for them to start chanting in circles and speaking in tongues.”

“I don’t think its the Immortal of Desire,” said Noel, “since the birds didn’t seem to want to be involved in the mortal world.”

“Which leaves the Immortal of Madness or the God of Evil,” I said. “Honestly, I hope it’s the God of Evil. At least we’ve managed to defeat his minions and unraveled his schemes before.”

“But wasn’t that with the help of the other immortals? We were sort of used by the Immortal of Madness, too,” she said, “and we weren’t able to resist him at all.”

She was right. We didn’t have enough info and nor did we have a lot of support. The Roja tribe may be armed with simple spells and copper weapons, but they couldn’t hope to hold a candle to the immortals. We needed to come up with a plan.

“Noel,” I said, staring into her eyes, resolutely, “let’s learn some magic!”